The Sign of Three
by Cahaya Sidur
Summary: AU of S03E02 The Sign of Three. John and Mary are getting married. It's just marriage, right…right? What could go wrong?
1. The Wedding

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**AN: And here's the Sign of Three - not a lot of changes, just some notes from Irene's perspective. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Irene smiled at her lover. He was devouring a book which she had briefly caught the title of as she passed him with Nero: 'Ways to Make a Memorable Best Man's Speech'. John and Mary had finally decided on a wedding date, not too far off from today.

She had never gotten married before...a lad named Norton had almost got her, but she had refused at the last second. In fact, Irene and Sherlock weren't even married. They were more of intellectual partners and lovers, with Sherlock having outright refused to get married.

Though no one else had agreed, being slightly shocked at the thought that Irene and Sherlock weren't married, Irene had agreed with his reasoning. To get married was to proclaim that they were going to be forever together, and then seal it with pointless rings of metal. In fact, 1 out of 3 weddings always ended in divorce.

'Darling, it's time for dinner.'

Sherlock didn't give any notice that he had heard her. Irene sighed, and placed Nero down in the playpen that Mrs. Hudson had kept from her own children and set up once again for Nero (God, that woman was a _saint_), and then picked up the book from Sherlock's grip, igniting an annoyed 'Irene!'

'Don't give me that look, darling. It's time for dinner, and I won't have you abandoning it even though it's John's wedding.'

'But-'

'No buts.' Sherlock sulked and stood up, crossing over in his blue silk dressing gown and bare feet into the kitchen. Irene sighed at his behaviour, and picked Nero up, placing him in the baby seat.

'Anecdotes.' He growled.

'Hm?' Irene looked up from where she was unsuccessfully trying to feed Nero. 'Sorry?'

'I need _anecdotes _about John.'

Irene raised an elegant eyebrow. 'Then contact Lestrade.' Her brow then furrowed. 'No, Sherlock-' Sherlock already had texted Lestrade, obviously forgetting that Lestrade was busy with a case this evening. Taking out _her _phone, Irene dialled the Detective Inspector's number. He picked up, and Irene walked out of the kitchen, leaving the task of feeding Nero to Sherlock.

'Inspector? Don't bother coming. Sherlock merely needs anecdotes.'

A curse on the other side. 'Christ! Thanks Irene.'

Irene smiled. 'Of course. Now, if you don't mind, I have to get back.' She hung up and turned back to face Sherlock. Sherlock frowned at her, but his expression softened only slightly as she pecked him on the lips, and turned back to where Nero was demanding their attention.

* * *

'Congratulations!' The greeting was shouted out by the photographer as he stepped in front. 'Hang on, I just want to get this one. Just the bride and groom, please.'

Janine (a girl that Irene didn't care much about, and _no_, she wasn't jealous), and Sherlock were standing to the side, Janine clinging, well, not exactly _clinging_, but something like it, to Sherlock, while Sherlock backed away slightly, obviously uncomfortable. He scowled at Irene's smirk.

Irene smiled at the groom and bride. Both were glowing with happiness.

* * *

Irene laughed as the boy, Archie, was it? hugged Sherlock tightly, while her lover stiffened and patted his head awkwardly, promising pictures of beheadings to the boy, while the unaware mother frowned, asking her son what he had said as she led him in.

Seeing the man that was previously Mary's boyfriend, no, fiancé, stare at Sherlock in discomfort made Irene want to laugh again. God. She had been in her room and had heard the conversations he had had with the different people in the different positions of the wedding.

She joined Sherlock, carrying Nero who looked uncomfortable in his suit (Sherlock had demanded where the _heck_ she had managed to get one), and was playing with his tie. Sherlock was talking with Mary, who were looking at John greeting someone.

Major Sholto, she supposed, but Sherlock clearly didn't know it.

'Major Sholto? If they're such good friends, why does he _never_ mention him to me?'

Mary frowned. 'Mentions him all the time to me, never shuts up about him.'

'And he did mention it to you, darling.' Irene's voice breezed into the conversation. 'Do you not remember? When we were talking about the invitations.' Sherlock scowled.

'That does not mean anything.'

Mary smiled at the couple, and grimaced as she took a sip of her wine: 'I chose this wine, but it's bloody awful.', before adding her bit in about Sholto. 'Hm, John said that he's the most unsociable man he's ever met.'

'He is _he's_ the most unsociable man he's ever met?' Sherlock demanded, the second question cutting over the first.

Mary laughed as she looked at Sherlock. 'Aw, Sherlock, neither of us were the first.'

'Stop smiling.'

'Darling.' Irene's tone was slightly warning.

Mary didn't seem to care as she laughed in nearly incredulous surprise. 'It's my wedding day!'

* * *

Irene later caught Sherlock talking to Mycroft on the phone, before hearing him snap 'I'm not a child anymore, _Mycroft_,' and hanging up.

She had seen that look on his face before. When he had spoke to Nero about his old dog: Redbeard. Well, used to be only friend. Before he met John. Irene moved to Sherlock. 'Enjoying yourself?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

'Are _you_?'

'Other than some of the more idiotic and obtuse of John's cousins, I suppose that it'll have to do.'

* * *

Irene knew that the speech was going to go down the moment she saw Sherlock throw away the telegrams, and faintly remembered laughing with Mrs. Hudson about it as Sherlock entertained Nero on the violin upstairs in their flat.

_John had come in catching both of them in mid-laughter, with the statement 'I thought you were dying...' and unable to get anything out of Mrs. Hudson except for 'The telegrams, John, oh, the telegrams!'. _

_Irene merely smirked at him, regained her composure, and said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, moving back upstairs, with John following her upstairs, to see Nero sleeping peacefully on the sofa with a recording of Sherlock's violin going on. _

_Irene tutted as Sherlock held a fire to an eyeball, and looked up. 'Oh. I thought Mrs. Hudson was torturing an owl. Was she?'_

_'No, darling.' Irene smiled. 'She was laughing her poor self to death.' _

_John frowned at the statement as Sherlock replied. 'Could have been doing both at the same time.' John sat himself down at the table, and looked at Irene, who smiled and moved to what became her and Sherlock's bedroom. _

_Irene didn't hear much of the conversation, but noted that there had been a long silence after John spoke. She wondered briefly what was, and wondered whether she was going to eavesdrop or not. _

_Deciding she had nothing to lose, she did so, just in time to hear Sherlock's low baritone. 'I'm your best friend?', saying 'friend' at the same time as John, who had said 'man'. _

_John seemed shock, before speaking. 'Yeah. You're my best friend.' _

* * *

Then, when Sherlock admitted what an arsehole he was, Irene could only stare in something like amazement. God. Sherlock admitting that.

She saw tears in the eyes of some, and grinned as she looked at his slightly panicked face, being close enough to hear John and Mary conversing quietly. 'If I go up and try to hug him, stop me.'

'Certainly not.'

Irene smiled as Sherlock started on the funny stories, recounting 'The Hollow Client', 'The Poison Giant', 'The Matchbox Dacathlete' (Which had both of them stumped for a second, before Irene and Sherlock's knowledge about tobacco had helped), and the 'Elephant in the Room'.

Worry churned in her gut for some reason when Sherlock started the story on the 'Bloody Guardsman'.


	2. The Bloody Guardsman

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**AN: Updates are gonna be slow until I finish the story completely. **

* * *

Chapter 7:

Irene remembered the Case of the Bloody Guardsman well.

_'Sherlock, calm down.' Mary frowned at Sherlock, after his long list of what to do. 'The orchestra isn't even supposed to rehearse for a week now. Calm down.'_

_'Calm? I am calm. I am extremely calm.' But Irene could see the signs that he was panicking on the inside, his slightly stiff rigid posture, and the slight crease on his forehead. However, before she could act, Mary did. _

_'Relax. Let's get back to the Reception, c'mon. John's cousin, top table?' She handed Sherlock the invitation. Irene shook her head, and both spoke simultaneously. _

_'Hates you.' _

_Sherlock went further. 'Can't even stand to think about you.' _

_Mary looked slightly stunned. 'Seriously?' _

_'Second class post, cheap card.' He took one sniff of it and then returned it to her. 'Bought at a petrol station. Look at the stamp. Three attempts at licking. She's obviously unconsciously retaining saliva.'_

_Mary smiled. 'Aw, let's stick her at the bogs.'_

_Sherlock sat down at the desk. 'Oh yes.'_

_'Lovely idea.' Irene smiled at Mary, who grinned back. Mary turned to Sherlock._

_'Who else hates me?' Sherlock handed her a card. 'Oh great, thanks.' _

_John was reading out names of cases as he sat down, not doing much. In fact, Irene could almost be convinced that it was Sherlock and Mary getting married, both of them sitting together while going through the invitations and planning everything. _

_Both seemed like a likely pair, sharp and smart, able to handle one another. _

_'Priceless painting nicked. Sounds interesting.'_

_'Done.'_

_'Table 4.'_

_'My husband is three people.' _

_'Table 5.'_

_Sherlock frowned. 'Major James Sholto. Who he?'_

_'Oh, John's old commanding officer. I don't think he's coming.'_

_'He'll be there.'_

_'Will he?' Irene purred, carrying Nero out of the bedroom and handing him over to Sherlock, who looked mildly annoyed at this as he stood up while Irene took his seat. _

_'Well,' Mary said, agreeing. 'He needs to RSVP then.'_

_'He'll be there.' John said again, sounding convinced. 'My husband is three people?' He repeated. _

_Irene answered. 'Don't worry darling, I'll take this one. Triplets, one in half a million births.' _

_Sherlock, using his foot, pulled out a tray. Nero cooed over them. 'Now. Serviettes. Swan or Sydney Opera House?'_

_Mary looked stunned and delighted at the same time. 'Where did you learn to do _that_?'_

_Irene smiled. 'I taught him.'_

_'Ah.' Mary nodded. Irene watched as Mary pulled John into the kitchen and closed the door. She turned to Sherlock._

_'Are you alright, darling?'_

_'Fine.' The response, too quick an answer, made her frown slightly. _

_'Nervous?'_

_'No.'_

_'Yes you are.'_

_'No I'm not.' _

_'William Sherlock Scott Holmes!' Irene snapped. Sherlock turned to her, scowling at his full name. Irene's expression softened briefly._ _She walked over to him. 'Don't worry about it, darling. I'm sure it'll be alright.' _

_At that moment, both John and Mary came out, and Mary nodded at Irene, who smirked. _

_Mary dragged Irene into the kitchen. 'You think they'll buy it?' _

_Irene nodded. 'Sherlock's so nervous right now that he'll agree with everything.'_

_Within minutes, both were running out, with Mary and Irene smiling at each of them. They then exited, and Mary and Irene continued to sort through the invitations. _

_'Is Sherlock...you know?' Mary asked Irene, who sighed as she replied. _

_'Yes. You would think that it's _him_ that's getting married.' _

_'Speaking about marriage...' Mary suddenly looked sly. 'When are you and Sherlock going to get married?' _

_Irene sighed. 'We don't talk about it. In all, we're just partners. We have Nero, we live together, we work well together, and we're happy.' Mary laughed. 'We never thought of marrying. Besides, nearly one third of all marriages end in divorce or cheating.' _

_Mary laughed again. 'Come on. I think it would be fun!'_

_Irene frowned. 'An ex-dominatrix marrying the world's only Consulting Detective with a child that's a genius?' She asked sarcastically, something she surely got from Sherlock. 'Sure that that's going to be on the headlines for a long time, and that's something that's probably best not mentioned to anybody.' _

_Mary hummed in agreement, before pulling out another invitation. 'What about this one? John's aunt?' _

* * *

_About an hour passed unsuccessfully, and the women went out to get coffee, inviting Molly, though she was apparently on a date with Tom. They brought along Nero, who enjoyed himself immensely. _

_When they returned home, it was to a relaxing John and a furious Sherlock, who was scowling and practically spitting at John about his scarf. _

_'It saved someone's life!' _

_'And what about me?!' Sherlock fumed, ignoring John. Both seemed to be having a conversation that was more than one-sided. 'It's ruined!' _

_'And the Captain was very pleased to have Bainbridge rescued-'_

_'The cost! Where do you think I can get these bloodstains out?!' _

_'And he let us go without pressing any charges, that's a good thing, isn't it?'_

_'You think I can just go up to mummy and ask her to wash my bloodied scarf?!'_

_'What happened?' Irene's breezy tone cut in, and Mary sent her a small smile. She walked over to where Sherlock was now standing – next to his stand – and kissed him, before turning around. _

_Sherlock was the first to speak. 'John ruined my scarf.' He sounded like a 5-year-old declaring that his friend had broken his toy. _

_'It was to save a life!' John protested. _

_'You ruined it!' Sherlock seethed at John, all menace returning. _

_'It's just a scarf!' _

_'Shut up!' Sherlock snapped, still clutching on to the scarf, which was caked in drying blood. With that, he turned and stormed to his room, effectively ending the conversation. _


	3. Stag Night

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**AN: Thank you to floratang for reviewing, and sorry for the wait. Hope people still read this…enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 8:

Irene smiled at the memory, and then at Sherlock's recount of the mystery, before speaking again. 'Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing was wrong. He came off duty and a few minutes later was nearly dead form a wound to his stomach, but there was no weapon.

'Where did it go?' Irene smiled again. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to consider this – a murderer that can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish. But in all of this, there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable.' Irene's grin grew. She had helped Sherlock with this part...well, she had helped him with the whole speech, to be honest.

'George?'

Irene tried to hide her snort, seeing Lestrade sigh in exasperation as he crossed his arms. 'It's _Greg_.'

'Well, you are a detective, or apparently one. How'd you think this murder was done?'

'Grating in the air vent, maybe a ballista or a catapult, um,' Here he hesitated. 'um, somebody tiny could crawl in there. So, we're looking fo dwarf.'

Irene wanted to laugh at the answer.

'Brilliant.' That surprised her slightly, before she realised what he was going into, and before she could warn Lestrade with a text, Lestrade fell into the trap.

'Really?'

'No.' The answer was instant. 'Next!'

'He stabbed himself.' Irene could hear Tom whispering to Molly.

'You.' Tom looked up in surprise. 'Yes, you.' Sherlock nodded. 'What's your theory?'

'Um, a blade, carefully structured of human bone. Bainbridge killed himself in the shower.'

'Uh, nope.' Sherlock frowned, looking confused as to why there should be such a theory.

Molly stomped her hand on Tom's as he slowly sat back down. Then Mary spoke up. 'Irene?'

All turned to the attractive woman, who, until a few days ago, had remained annonymous. Right now, she was thankful that Mrs. Hudson was currently carrying the baby as she smirked, predator-like. As she looked carefully at Sherlock, she noticed the way his pupils dilated as he saw her smile, and was sure that hers also did so.

'Since explanations of Bainbridge being killed during the shower and after he came off guard duty were all dismissed, the only thing left could have been if someone had done it _before_ all this happened, concealed the wound somehow without Bainbridge noticing, and had expected for Bainbridge to die the moment he stepped into the shower.'

Eyebrows were raised at this. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Close.' He then returned to his speech.

'There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling.' He looked at Jon. 'The best and bravest man I know and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff.' John laughed. 'Except for wedding planning and serviettes, he's rubbish at those.'

Mary and Irene exchanged a discreet grin as everyone in the room laughed or giggled quietly.

'The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly planned murder or attempted murder I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. The most perfect locked room mystery of which I am aware. However,' He looked around. 'I'm not just here to praise John – I'm also here to embarrass him, so let's move on to some...'

Lestrade interrupted. 'N-n-, wait. So how was it...how was it done?'

Sherlock looked at him blankly. 'How was _what_ done?'

'The stabbing.' Lestrade frowned, as if was obvious.

Irene knew the answer would be a stab to Sherlock's pride, but smiled as Sherlock answered, ducking down his head. 'I'm afraid I don't know. I didn't solve that one. That's..' he paused for a while. 'It can happen sometimes. It's very...very disappointing.' He sighed, before continuing. 'Embarrassment leads me onto the stag night. Of course, there's hours of material here, but I've cut it down to the really good bits.'

Irene remembered it well. She had brought Mary out on _their_ own stag night.

_'So where're John and Sherlock going again?' Mary asked, looking up at Irene. _

_'They're having a stag night.' Irene pulled Mary up. 'Which is why we're also having one.' _

_Mary frowned. 'I'm not even dressed yet.' _

_'Hurry up then!' Irene shoved her jokingly into her bedroom, where Mary slammed the door shut. _

_'Where's Nero, by the way?' She called through the door. _

_'Mrs. Hudson's volunteering to take care of him for us.'_

_'She adores him, doesn't she?' _

_'Who doesn't?' _

_This earned her a laugh in response as Mary came out, following Irene down to where there was a pub. Both walked in, and Mary turned slightly envious towards Irene, who immediately attracted stares from both men and women alike. _

_Irene seemed to notice her discomfort and grinned. 'C'mon.' _

_She led them to the table and soon enough, they got chatting with the bartender, who gave them a discount, practically free of charge. _

_Not long after that, they started on the dance floor, before returning to Mary's apartment for the night. _

_'Wonder what the boys are up to?' Mary asked. Though slightly drunk, her speech was still clear. _

_Irene shrugged, her liquor-holding abilities higher than Mary's from countless clients. 'Not sure. Though I hope that John doesn't try and sneak something into Sherlock's drink. He doesn't hold his liquor well.'_

_'No?' Mary looked confused, though she giggled a bit. 'Well, given that he doesn't exactly have social encounters...' _

_Irene smiled sadly. 'His favourite aunt died from drinking while drunk, coincidentally crashing into another driver who was also drunk. He stayed with his drunk uncle for a while when younger, and let's just leave it at he didn't have the best of experiences.' _

_Mary winced. 'Okay, so bad experiences with alcohol. Got it.' _

_After that, they separated, with Irene sleeping on the spare bed (she really couldn't be bothered to go home, especially seeing how Sherlock and John were probably staying over there), and fell asleep. _

* * *

_The next morning, both found out that their partner had gotten arrested, because John, indeed, _had_ snuck in a few shots more for Sherlock's cup. Well, cylinder would be a more appropriate term. _

_They had missed an interesting case, one which Sherlock was now looking into...if locating dozens of laptops counted as looking into it. _

_John was downstairs eating breakfast with Mrs. Hudson, and Mary decided to join them. Irene looked as Sherlock closed down the site that he had previously been looking at, only to look at a new one, with a picture of Major Sholto, with the strap line beside the photo saying "_He destroyed us all. And he gets a medal for it._" _

_Irene peered over Sherlock's shoulder, reading the article with him, before gently messaging his neck, which was stone hard from the pressure of sleeping on a hard surface last night. _

_Sherlock relaxed into her grip, unintentionally purring as he leaned back into her touch. _

_Irene smirked, before gently replacing her hands with his neck, while placing her hands on Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock once again leaned into her touch as Irene planted kisses down his neck, unbuttoning one of his shirt's buttons, and sucking particularly viscously at the joint of his shoulder and neck. _

_Sherlock moaned but before either of them could go on, they heard the unmistakeable footsteps of Mary and John coming up, talking about their stag nights. _

_Irene walked over to the sofa and reclined in it, watching as Sherlock opened another tab – _I DATED A _. John walked across the room to join his friend, while Irene pulled Mary along to go out. _

_'Nero needs some fresh air, and I need company.' Irene said in a way of explanation. _


	4. Part Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**AN: Sorry to keep you guys waiting for so long...I had no internet the past few weeks, so couldn't update...**

* * *

Chapter 9:

_Irene and Mary talked idly over things as Nero reached out a chubby hand to try and grab a butterfly from where he was rested in Irene's arms. _

_'So, when's Nero's birthday?' Mary asked suddenly. 'I can't believe I didn't ask that before!'_

_Irene laughed. 'January 6__th__.' _

_'Wait.' Mary frowned. 'Isn't that also Sherlock's birthday?' _

_The Woman nodded. 'Coincidence. We didn't really plan it. We thought that it would be a few days after Sherlock, but apparently, Nero wanted to have the same birthday as his daddy, so...' _

_Mary laughed at the thought._

_'Well,' She checked the date. 'It's May now, and we didn't celebrate Sherlock or Nero's birthday, so we're going to do it next month.' _

_'Next month?' Irene asked, slightly amused. _

_Mary nodded determinedly. 'Next month, on the 6__th__.' Irene laughed. _

_'Nero may love the attention, but I'm not too sure about Sherlock.' _

_Mary frowned. 'Then he's going to have to deal with it. Because we're doing it no matter what they say.' Irene laughed. _

_'Well put, Ms. Morstan. Well put.' _

Irene was brought back into the present by Sherlock finishing his account. 'Married. Obvious really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity, and instead of endless nights in, watching the telly, or going to the barbecues with awful dreadful boring people he couldn't stand-'

Irene wanted to laugh at the same time. Sounded a lot like Sherlock, but she knew that Sherlock wouldn't cheat on her.

After all, other people, as he so poetically put it, were "awful dreadful boring people".

'He used his wits, cleverness and powers of diguise to play the field. He was...' He looked at both newlyweds, who were shaking their heads indiscreetly. He caught Irene's eye discreetly, and Irene smiled at him, though she gave the tiniest of shakes of her head.

Of course, Sherlock understood.

'On second thoughts, I _probably_ should have told you about the Elephant in the Room. However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that's what made me special – quite frankly, I still do.

'But a word to the wise: should any of you require the services of either of us, _I_ will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that – I should know. He's saved mine so many times, and in so many ways.'

Sherlock held up his phone, which he hadn't put away. 'This blog is the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures...' A small smile, which earned him a chuckle from everyone.

'Of murder, mystery and mayhem. But from now on, there's a new story – a _bigger_ adventure.' He looked at the newlyweds, who smiled happily back at him.

'Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding.' He picked up his own glass, watching everyone else do the same. 'Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson.' John sighed while Mary giggled.

Irene grinned, remembering Sherlock's unusual interest in John's middle name, which had led to numerous guesses.

'The two reasons why every single one of us is...'

Irene recognised the face too late. Sherlock had figured out the case. She frowned, wondering what she had missed, before Sherlock dropped his glass.

The Woman wanted to slap herself on the head. She remembered Sherlock trying to guess John's name, before stealing his birth certificate, which was supposedly "confiding" in him.

'...here today!' The glass smashed to the floor. He raised his head, shaking it. Irene immediately knew the signs. She frowned in concern at him, but he seemed distracted as he accepted another glass.

'Now, where were we?' He shook his head, before nodding. 'Ah, yes. Raising glasses and standing up. Very good. Thank you.'

Sherlock looked at them for a moment, before putting his hands down in the universal hand sign of "sit down". 'And down again.' Confused, everyone sat down, with Irene slowly dawning upon the answer herself.

The World's only Consulting Detective placed his glass down. 'Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech – get off early, leave 'em laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now...'

He leapt across the table, leaving surprised gasps.

'Part two.'

He walked around the central aisle. Irene tried catching eye-contact, but failed. 'Part two is more action-based. I'm gonna ... walk around, shake things up a bit.'

Sherlock looked around in what was his "deductive stare" as he looked at every man in the room, excluding Archie. 'Who'd _go_ to a wedding? That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?'

Sherlock turned back. 'Well, _everyone._'

He turned around and clapped his hands once.

'Wedding are _great_! Love a wedding!'

Meanwhile, Irene could faintly hear Mary. 'What's he doing?' She whispered to John.

John's posture was tense. 'Something's wrong.'

Both exchanged a look with Irene, who shook her head. She was just as clueless as them until Sherlock looked at her, and she could read what he was thinking from his eyes.

Sherlock headed back to the table where John was sitting. 'And John's great, too! Haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his ... jumpers ...'

_Something was definitely wrong. If only Sherlock would _look at her! Irene, frustrated, followed Sherlock's every move.

'...and he can cook. Does a thing...thing with peas...' It was obvious that Sherlock was struggling to keep his composure. 'Once. Might not be peas. Might not be _him_. But he's got a great singing voice...or _somebody_ does.' He growled in frustration, teeth clenched. 'Ah, _too many, too many, too many, TOO MANY!_' He grimaced.

'Sorry. Too many jokes about John! Now, er...' He looked dazed for a moment. 'Where was I? Ah, yes.' He blinked once. 'Speech!' He pointed at the top table, grinning. 'Speech.' He clapped his hand once again. 'Let's talk about...'

He looked slightly lost for a second, before he continued. 'Murder.'

John sighed while Mary frowned. Irene herself had her eyes wide. She knew what he was talking about now, and immediately scanned the guests.

'Sorry, did I say "murder"? I meant to say "marriage" – but, you know, they're quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other, and it's over when one of them's _dead_.'

He called over to Janine, and began to rattle out deductions about a man and his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend. Only Irene could catch his fingers moving behind his back on his phone, sending a text. Irene turned to Lestrade, who looked at her in confusion.

Irene nodded at Lestrade's pocket, where he kept his phone.

Confused, Lestrade took it out, and turned to Sherlock.

'Geoff, the gents. The loos, now, please.'

'It's _Greg_.' Lestrade said, incredulous that Sherlock _still_ hadn't remembered.

'The loos, please.'

'Why?' Lestrade looked at his phone as it beeped out a text.

'Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's _your_ _turn_.' This was said rather pointedly.

Lestrade looked at his phone.

_Lock this place down._


	5. The Signs of Three

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**AN: Well...after a long wait, I give you the final chapter of 'The Sign of Three'...chapter's a bit longer than the others, and if you feel it skims rather quickly, I'm sorry, just wanted to finish this while I still had inspiration for this. Already begun 'His Last Vow', but will take some time before it gets posted. Think of this as a...10 day late Christmas present!**

**Much thanks to floratang, Sweetydu972, blotus and the Guest reviewer for reviewing! **

**floratang: Already planning a possible one-shot about the party for Nero and Sherlock! **

* * *

Chapter 11:

Irene turned to her lover, mind no doubt racing as fast, if not, faster than hers as they racked their brains. Sholto was keeping up a monologue that she could care less about, even as Sherlock replied onto _how_ could he solve the case when he _couldn't_ not too long ago.

Mary's assurance was quiet as Irene and Sherlock looked at one another. Irene thought hard, ignoring Sherlock's conversation. Their uniforms...all of them were wearing uniforms...

She looked up at Sherlock. 'Darling. The uniforms.' All she knew was that this was something important. She couldn't finish the thought, but Sherlock sure could. His eyes lightened up, and she grinned knowingly. He had solved it. He turned to her, kissing her briefly, before knocking on the door rapidly.

He turned to Mary, grinning delightedly, adding, as if just to prove a point, 'Though, in fairness, he's a drama queen too.'

'Yeah, I know.' Mary responded quickly as Sherlock turned back to the door.

'Major Sholto, no one's coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago already.'

'What did you say?' the voice coming from inside the hotel room was tinted with incredulousness.

Irene's mind caught up as she helped Sherlock. 'Don't take off your belt, Major!'

'My belt?' now, it seemed as if he thought both of them had lost their minds. Irene supposed it seemed like it, if they told someone to do something like that.

'His belt, yes. Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we eve saw him, but it was through his belt. _Tight_ belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabrid and you wouldn't even feel it.'

John nodded, but it was Irene who continued. 'The belt binds the flesh together when tied tight, and when you took it off,'

'Delayed action stabbing. All the time in the world to create an alibi.' Sherlock finished.

'So-' Major Sholto's vice sounded from inside his room. 'I was to be killed by my uniform. How appropriate.' The last sentence was spat out with bitterness. Irene frowned.

Mary seemed to sense the threat like Irene did. 'He solved the case, Major. You're supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal.'

Sholto continued on, as if Mary hadn't spoken at all. 'I'm not even supposed to _have_ this anymore. They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose – given the circumstances, I don't _have_ to.' Irene shot Sherlock a worried glance. 'When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue.'

'Whatever you're doing in there, James, _stop it. _Right _now_. I _will_ kick this door down.' John was now finally in on what they had been worried about.

'Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think.'

Sherlock immediately stepped forward, John moving back.

'Yes, I think we are.'

'There's a proper time to die, isn't there?'

'Of _course_ there is.' Sherlock said in his matter-of-fact tone, but there was a clear hint of worry behind it as he wondered about the Major's next move.

'And one should embrace it when it comes – like a soldier.'

Irene shot Sherlock a worried look as he spoke out in his rapid-fire speak. His voice was firm. 'Of _course_ one should, but not at John's _wedding. _We wouldn't do _that_, would we – you and me? We would _never_ do that to John Watson.'

Irene could see John looking touched for a moment, before firmness take over as silence reigned inside.

He made up his mind. 'I'm going to break it down.'

'No, wait, wait, you won't have to!' Mary intervened quickly.

John turned to her, head tilted, even as the door opened. Irene didn't miss the look Sholto gave Sherlock, before turning to John. 'I believe I am in need of medical attention.'

'I believe I am your doctor.'

Following Sholto inside, Mary gave Sherlock a quick smile. Sherlock turned to Irene, who kissed him briefly, before pushing him in. Nero, who had been quiet all this time, looking at them worriedly, now began to fuss. Irene smiled at her child, before moving back to the wedding hall.

* * *

Irene walked around. She was looking for Sherlock, having asked everyone about him already. After Mary noted that he had disappeared off with Janine, she tried to quell the feeling in her chest. _No_, she was _not_ feeling jealous, thank you very much.

She noticed them in a room, where Sherlock did a perfect pirouette. Chuckling, she entered the room just as Janine said 'I wish you weren't...'

When Sherlock turned to her, Janine noticed Irene – without Nero for once, and spoke quickly. '...whatever it is you are.'

John joined them, walking in. 'Well, _glad_ to see you've pulled through, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding.' he clapped Sherlock on the back, his eyes crinkling slightly in fond amusement, even as his tone remained sarcastic.

'_One_ murder – one _nearly_ murderer.' Sherlock corrected quickly. Irene smiled.

'Indeed, John.'

John frowned as Sherlock turned to Janine. '_Loves_ to exaggerate. You should try living with him.'

Lestrade came in at the moment as he gestured for someone to enter. 'Got him for you, Sherlock.'

Sherlock clapped his hands together as his eye catches Irene's. 'Good.'

'The photographer?' John asked, curious.

'Er, may I have a look at your camera?' the photographer looked at him strangely, though there was a hint of nervousness to him.

'What's this about? I was halfway home!'

'You should have driven faster.' Sherlock's voice was cold before he smiled as he flicked through the pictures. 'Ah, yes. _Yes_, very good. There, you see? _Perfect_.'

'What is? You gonna tell us?' Lestrade asked, confused.

'Try looking yourself.' Sherlock said, handing the camera to Lestrade. John peered over, also confused.

'Look for _what_ exactly?' John frowned at the camera. 'Is the murderer in these photographs?'

'It's not what's _in_ the photographs-'

'Darling,' Irene interrupted. 'As much as I would love to see the looks of bewilderment on their faces-' Mary came in at that moment, looking confused at the commotion. 'I need to remind you that you have to remember that the dance is in less than five minutes. You have to wrap it up quickly, darling.'

Sherlock pouted, but obliged. 'There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph but can go anywhere, and even carry a equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face. You only ever see...'

'The camera.' Irene finished for him.

A sharp click, and the photographer was handcuffed to the birdcage luggage trolley.

'What are you doing? What _is_ this?'

Sherlock turned back to the crowd as he held up his phone. 'Jonathan Small, today's substitute wedding photographer – known to us as the Mayfly Man. His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Jonny sought revenge on Sholto...'

'Worked his way through Sholto's staff, found what he needed – an invitation to a wedding.' Irene continued.

Sherlock nodded. 'The one time Sholto would _have_ to be out in public. So he made his plan, and rehearsed the murder, making sure of every last detail.' he turned back to Small. 'Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac, though, in fairness, his photographs _are_ actually quite good.' he tossed his phone to Lestrade. 'Everything you need's on that. You probably ought to...arrest him or something.'

Janine leaned in to Sherlock. 'Do you _always_ carry handcuffs?'

Irene raised an eyebrow as Sherlock replied. 'Down, girl.'

'Come on, quick!' Mary beckoned to John. 'Everyone's waiting.'

Small frowned as he looked at Sherlock. 'It's not _me_ you should be arresting, Mr. Holmes.'

'Oh, _I_ don't do the arresting. I just farm that out.'

'Sholto,' Small said, as if Sherlock hadn't spoken at all. '_He's_ the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker.' For a brief second, a maniac smile adorned his face. Irene tensed, ready to act if Small even _touched_ Sherlock. Sherlock looked back at him.

'You should have driven faster.'

He offered his arm to Janine, who took it. He gave Irene a brief smile, before turning to leave.

Irene smiled back, before following them out of the hall, with John and Mary not too far behind.

* * *

Irene laughed quietly to herself as the single violin played out. John dipped Mary down, resulting in a gasp from Mary, as she grinned at John. The mostly silent hall was interrupted by Nero's 'Oooh!' at this action, resulting in many laughs, even from the bride and groom themselves.

Nero's hands were out grabbing air, but Irene patted them down. 'No, sweetheart. This is _their_ moment, not yours.'

As if pouting, Nero turned away from Irene.

Irene shook her head at her son's dramatics, before turning back to smile at Sherlock, who had a similar grin in place, clearly having already seen Nero's action.

When the song finished, she joined in on the applause, Nero attempting to clap as well.

Irene smiled at the speech that Sherlock gave afterwards, promising to 'be there for the three-two of them.'

She made her way to them as John asked what had happened, resulting in Sherlock immediately starting his deductions. Irene had reached close enough to understand roughly what he was talking about.

She reached them in time to hear Mary's 'I'm pregnant, _I'm _panicking.'

'Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Watson.'

Mary turned to her, face full of shocked delight. 'I'm guessing you telling him didn't end up like this?'

Irene laughed. 'I told him when we were escaping from a building with men firing from all directions. Completely caught him off-guard. We left, soon had Nero.' Nero gurgled happily, as if sensing they were talking about him.

'Me! Ne-wo!' they stared at him, before Irene sighed.

'Why am I not surprised that your first few words would have to do with yourself and your name, Nero?'

Nero seemed pleased with himself despite Irene's expression. 'Ne-wo! NE-WO!'

'Yes, yes, no need to scream. Everyone here already knows.' Sherlock calmed their son down, who clapped his hands at his father, twisting out of his mother's grip.

Sherlock accepted him, with Nero cooing as he reached Sherlock.

'Oh god...' Mary seemed to realise something now. 'I'm _pregnant_.'

Irene laughed as Sherlock frowned incredulously. 'You'll be great parents, that's for sure. Look at all the practice that you've had!'

'What practice?' John frowned.

'Well, you're hardly going to need me or Nero around now that you've got your _own_ real baby coming along.'

Irene laughed, seeing Nero's delighted face as he spoke. 'Ne-wo!'

'Ne-_ro_.' Sherlock corrected his son.

Nero's face scrunched up. 'Ne-rwo.' Close enough.

'Go on, dance.' Sherlock encouraged them.

'What about you?' Mary asked.

Irene smiled. 'Don't worry about him, Mary.'

John grinned as Mary looked at Sherlock. 'I expect all three of you still here at the end of this wedding party.'

'That might be pushing it.' Irene noted. 'Nero needs to sleep soon.'

'Fine. _One_ of you will stay.' Mary grinned. 'Maybe Sherlock. After all, we need to start planning your and Nero's birthday party!'

She led John away, laughing with Irene as Sherlock looked at her in alarm. '_What_?'

But he got no reply. He turned to Irene, but she merely smiled and shook her head, taking up Nero, who, despite his earlier enthusiasm, was already looking tired. 'I'll put him to sleep.'

She kissed Sherlock briefly. 'See you later, darling.'


End file.
